


young james dean

by modernpatroclus



Category: All For the Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 13:35:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7270375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/modernpatroclus/pseuds/modernpatroclus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompt: andreil + cuddling</p><p>-</p><p>Most days, he truly feels like Neil Josten.</p><p>Some days, Nathaniel Wesninski stares back at him when he looks in the mirror.</p><p>When he finally opens his eyes tonight, all he can see is Nathan Wesninski.</p>
            </blockquote>





	young james dean

**Author's Note:**

> title comes from new americana by halsey, because i will find a way to relate every song ever to this series

Neil had woken from nightmares of handcuffs and lighters and cleavers. He was shivering and sweating all at once, and when he stood, he had nearly fallen right back down.

He had been half tempted to go for a run, to give in to the urge to _movemovemove fasterfasterfaster_ until his legs would buckle from sheer exhaustion. But it was summer, so he had spent all day at the court before going right back with Andrew and Kevin for night drills. For once, he didn’t have the energy.

Instead, Neil had stumbled into the bathroom, only flipping on the light after he’d closed himself in the total darkness so he wouldn’t wake Andrew, who was as light a sleeper as Neil.

The short space of time it took for Neil to find the switch was just long enough for the images of his dreams to appear in the blackness before him, bringing back the dreams he just wanted to forget. (He never can remember the good dreams in the morning, his alarm clock chasing them away as soon as he reaches consciousness. But the bad ones never seem to leave him.)

They went away for a few second when he turned on the light, closing his eyes against the overwhelming brightness. But they just came back behind his closed eyes.

Neil had to stagger to the sink and brace himself with it on his arms before he collapsed.

(They. Never. Left.)

Most days, he truly feels like Neil Josten.

Some days, Nathaniel Wesninski stares back at him when he looks in the mirror.

When he finally opens his eyes tonight, all he can see is Nathan Wesninski.

All the things his father never had – the burns, the shape of the tattoo that still lingers in the mess, the stubble that grew patchy instead of complete, the glimmer of hope in the blue eyes – he sees none of those things.

Neil sees cold, icy blue eyes; he sees hair a shade too close to blood; he sees the effects of a life of violence.

He wrenches his gaze from the reflection and redirects it to the grounding sight of his scarred, white-knuckled grip on the sink. It hurts, but not much. And Nathaniel Wesninski is no stranger to pain.

The thought sends him reeling again, any semblance of control down the drain. He yanks his hands from the cool ceramic, only feeling phantom fire from a dashboard lighter. He doesn’t realize how hard he’s shaking until he uncurls his fists and watches the violent tremors in his fingers.

There’s a voice in his ear, sultry and horrible, whispering, _“You look just like your father,”_ over and over.

He doesn’t hear the sound of the glass soap holder shatter as it hits the ground after Neil flinches too hard. He doesn’t hear the sound of someone falling out of bed, the sound of another cursing. He doesn’t hear the sound of a fist pounding on the door.

He hears, _“You look just like your father.”_ Because it is a nightmare, and everything else – the sounds of people, _family_ who actually do care about and would do anything for him – everything else is a dream, too good for someone like him. It’s a pipe dream, so it is forgotten the moment the nightmares of his life begin.

He doesn’t feel the broken glass slice into his foot when he slides down the wall to curl into himself on the floor. He’s numb, he’s in a trance. The tearless, dry sobs turn his throat raw before he even realizes he’s letting them out loud.

Time is a loop, of only the dark trunk of a car and a voice whispering, _“You look just like your father.”_

The moment only breaks when a hand on his neck squeezes just enough to leave a bruise, because like Nathaniel Wesninski, Neil Josten is no stranger to pain. This pain is like he had done with the sink: meant to ground, not to damage.

The touch is like a floodgate opening his senses. He feels, then he hears.

“Neil Josten. You are not him. You are nothing like him. He’s dead, and you are Neil Josten.”

“Andrew.” It comes out choked because his throat is wrecked, but so relieved. “I–” he tries, but nothing else comes out. Andrew understands, because he puts a hand over Neil’s mouth. The emotion in his eyes makes up for what’s lacking on his face. He presses his forehead to Neil’s, and though he’s pressing Neil down into the wall, it gives Neil the support he needs to breathe.

Neil mumbles his own name, his only _true_ name, to himself like he had in the backseat of a Fed vehicle, because someone else knows that he is real and that someone is damn smart enough for Neil to actually believe it.

After Neil comes back to himself enough to really feel the pain in his bleeding foot, he tries to stand before Andrew rolls his eyes and forces him to stay down. The mumbled, “Idiot,” is enough to bring a fleeting grin to his face.

Andrew gets him cleaned up and half-carries Neil back to Andrew’s own bunk.

Kevin is half asleep, but he’s aware enough to zero in on the gauze on Neil’s foot and ask, “Can you play?”

Andrew shoves Kevin flat to his mattress on the way by, and Neil’s “Yes,” has Andrew shoving him a little too roughly onto his bed.

“No,” he hisses, narrowing his eyes at Neil, daring him to argue.

Neil doesn’t bother with his, “I’m fine,” because Andrew knows him better than anyone, and Andrew’s never reacted well to Neil’s lies.

Kevin rolls back over and is asleep before Andrew even turns off the light. He joins Neil in bed, because Neil can’t climb up to his bunk on his foot – well, Neil would definitely do it if Andrew had let him try – and Andrew just put Neil back together for the who-knows-what time, so he knows that Neil is still very Not Fine.

Neil lifts his hand to Andrew’s chest, but stops before he actually touches him. Andrew will deny caring for Neil until he’s blue in the face, but he silently takes Neil’s hand and places it on his own chest, over his steady heart. When Neil relaxes, Andrew waits for a “Yes,” before wrapping his own arms around Neil, pulling him into his chest.

When Neil dreams that night, it’s forgotten as soon as he wakes. But the arms that are still on him like a lifeline are very much real, and he doesn’t forget them.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed!


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